You cant tell the difference between a sprig of parsley and a sprig of rosemary just by the label in the shop! And youve only ever seen berries in jam! muttered my offended neighbour, Mrs. Hargreaves, as she huffed.
Victor and I had driven up to our new cottage in the Cotswolds at the start of summer. Wed bought the place in the autumn, and now, months later, we were finally ready to put it in order. The house itself was charmingcozy enough to live in through winterbut the grounds and the outbuildings needed a good deal of work.
The overgrown garden had to be turned into something that would make a gardener proud. Wed already ordered a new wooden sauna; the delivery was due in a week, and all we still had to do was pick a spot for it. While we were at it, we planned a clothesdrying rack beside the sauna, a wood shed, and a little summer gazebo. The kids promised they’d come over and help with everything.
Nice and quiet here, we could live in this place all year. Were retirees now, after all, I said.
Just the cellar doors need replacing, Victor replied, peering into the basement.
And the back veranda, I added. Remember we talked about the gazebo? Its not for anything fancy. Theres a big round table out there with a set of vintage chairs.
The furniture just needs a onceover; itll last another hundred years. From that spot well have a view over the garden, sip tea, and enjoy the scenery. Well need new doors there toofeels like someones been in the house this winter or just recently.
Exactly. Doors first. Well do everything in the rear yard, out of sight from the road, so it looks tidy. And in front of the house well plant a little lawn and some flower beds.
The flowers are already thereperennials that have been here for yearsjust need to decide where everything goes. Might have to move a few plants, but well leave it as it is this summer.
A week later the sauna arrived, and the children turned up, ready to get stuck in. Work on the plot began in earnest. Mrs. Hargreaves stopped by to introduce herselfher grandchildren were constantly darting around the cottage.
Do you have grandchildren? she asked.
Sure enough, theyll be coming soon, Victor replied.
Why the massive fence youre putting up? We neighbours have never needed one.
Without a fence? What would we have done? We just took down the old one; it had collapsed. You never minded, but for us a tidy boundary matters. Dont worry, we havent taken any extra metres from your plot. The fence sits exactly on our property line.
Will there be a gate? We always had a way through.
Theres no provision for a gate between our houses. The entrance is only from the road.
What about the children, yours and ours? I saw you cut down the apple trees, and the kids loved to crawl over them.
We didnt fell them, just pruned and cleared the dead wood, and weve planted new saplings. Let your children have a go on your own apple trees.
Everythings new with you lot. Why the hedges along our fence?
For a tidy look, of course.
Mrs. Hargreaves left, but she kept coming back with more questions. Her grandchildren ran wild across Victors and my garden until we finally installed the new gate.
Youve settled in nicely, she said again, peering over the fence. Will you be staying here through the winter?
Time will tell, I answered.
Why close the gate? The kids used to kick a ball right in front of the house, it was handy and even. The road is busy, but this spot is safe.
My beds are already packed with vegetables, not like yours. You only know parsley by the label on the packet and have only ever tasted berries in jam. Youd better be friendly with me.
We shut the gate to keep prying eyes away and so your grandchildren dont start treating this as their own playground. Two days ago they let our chickens out, and we still havent found a single one.
You keep chickens too? So youre planning to live here permanently?
We already are.
At the end of August we celebrated Victors birthday. The kids, the grandchildren, the whole family gathered on the veranda. The men grilled steaks, the women tossed salads, and the table was laid out with fine china.
Here we are, dropping by for a neighbourly hello, Mrs. Hargreaves announced, as if it were a surprise. Were always like this, no invitation needed. Were neighbours, after all. The children know whats happening from the moment they wake up.
Youre getting ready, the guests are here, so its a party. Lets sit and enjoy. The kids will have more fun together, and its high time we became proper friends.
So we didnt invite you then? she replied, chuckling. Its just a family affair. Our relationship is nextdoor, not kin.
One day that could change. The kids will grow up. Maybe well be inlaws, she said with a grin.
She kept reshaping the conversation, never quite joining in. Her grandchildren were already climbing everywhereshaking the apple and pear trees, scrambling onto the roof of the sauna, which, thank goodness, didnt collapse.
Later the kids discovered a pile of flat stones laid around the outbuildings. One of them started tossing them into the inflatable pool. No one noticed at first, but when the water burst out with a splash, the children shrieked with delight.
Think about it, Mrs. Hargreaves sighed as the pool was emptied. Autumns coming, time to put the pool away. The kids had a good laugh.
Youre going home now!
We havent even sat down yet, the children are ravenous. Lets all get to the table!
The celebration was a bit chaotic, but another one was on the horizon. A week later the children returned for another gatheringthis time to mark the thirtiethfive year anniversary of Victor and my marriage.
Someone had the bright idea to lock the gate. As it turned out, the culprit was the youngest of the lot, Victors sevenyearold grandson, who loved to keep secrets.
There was a soft knock on the gate, and the whole family pretended nothing was afoot. The smell of barbecued meat and fresh garden herbs filled the air, and a cool breeze settled over the garden.
When will you be back in town? I asked.
Well see, Victor replied. Autumn is coming, well harvest what we can and then decide. The apple crop this year is superb. We like it here, apart from Mrs. Hargreaves, but shes not a dealbreaker. Shes taught us how to get on without her.
We all laughed together.
As the guests drifted away, Victor and I were left alone with the house, the garden, the coming autumn and, later, winter. Wed give it a go. And if it didnt work out, we could always move back to our flat in London.
Mrs. Hargreaves eventually drove off, her grandchildren in tow, heading back to school. Her teenage daughter was struggling, and the old lady promised to help. Victor and I sighed with relief. God bless us with such eccentric neighbours, I muttered.
What do you think of all this? Leave a comment and give it a like.
